


start as you mean to go on

by serenitysea



Series: i'm gonna buy this place and start a fire [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, also skye being a badass, and ward still being the best SO that ever supervised, but know that there is a bit of angst, heavy season two speculation, i don't want to reveal too much in the tags honestly, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka: five things ward says to skye that she says back to him (and one thing she needs to hear him say to her.)</p><p>spoilers for the new S2 promo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	start as you mean to go on

**Author's Note:**

> who else died over the new promo? i woke up and the internets had exploded. then i sat down three hours ago and wrote this. it's not betaed or really checked over, because i am impatient and dying to get this posted. thoughts are always welcomed. :) also, this fic was partly inspired by ves, and her comments about parallels between skye and ward. 
> 
> and many thanks to everyone on tumblr who responded with their favorite ward to skye lines. 
> 
> title from coldplay's _rush of blood to the head_. xo.

you know how the story begins. like this:  
  
  
"you and i see the world differently."  
  
and this:  
  
"what i can't do is protect you from something i can't even see… or understand."  
  
and:  
  
"you can stay… if you want."  
  
  
*  
  
you might think it ends with:  
  
  
"i was on a mission. it wasn't personal."  
  
and  
  
"i will _never_ give you what you want."  
  
*  
  
but guess what?  
  
 ** _you're wrong_**.  
  
*  
  
  
She tries, at first. Actually, she tries for a long time. Days that bleed into the worst part of weeks and she's going going going until one day she looks at a calendar and is shocked to find that nearly three months have passed.  
  
And to be honest, there is something to be said for the ritual of pulling on her vest, locking everything into place, making sure her gun is secured and extra ammo is accessible. The weight of the kevlar against her lungs compresses all the unwanted feelings back to where they came from.  
  
(She tries not to hear his voice so _badly_ when she goes out into the field.)  
  
She focuses on May's calm instructions and the important details that are given from Coulson. She meets Trip's eyes for anything that might require additional explanation or assistance and doesn't flinch when Jemma cleans over her wounds with scalding peroxide swabs of pain.  
  
It's just.  
  
It's just when she's locked into a jump seat and they're about to land — she has to take a steady breath to calm herself. Because everyone knows you don't go into the field with your head not in the game.  
  
  
(" _there will come a moment where you have to commit to this — or bail._ ")  
  
  
The only way Skye can drown out the voice in her head is with the roar of firing bullets from her gun. She doesn't stop until she runs out of ammo.  
  
But nothing can keep her hands from shaking.  
  
*  
  
When she gets back to the base, there is a debrief. (There is _always_ a debrief.)  
  
She does everything in her power to remain calm and not fidget, though it feels like there is too much restless energy to be contained under her skin. Coulson reviews the newest data and gives them new mission parameters. Wheels up in 18 hours. He dismisses them shortly after and she wanders the halls aimlessly, until she ends up at the unmarked door where Ward is being held.  
  
She doesn't even feign surprise when the door opens under her palm. (Of course Coulson programmed her access to see Ward. No one else but the Director has clearance for this; not May, not Jemma — certainly not Trip or Fitz.) The door slides open smoothly and Ward glances up, clearly not expecting her, if his slack-jawed expression is anything to go by.  
  
She doesn't know why she is even here. Everything about this is a screaming _mistake_. It takes effort she doesn't want to expend (she doesn't want to give him _anything_ ) to school her features into blankness.  
  
"We're going to one of Garrett's bases in Argentina. I'm sure you've already told Coulson the relevant details, but is there anything else I should know?"  
  
"Don't go. It's suicide."  
  
There is a pregnant silence in the room as Ward does not reveal anything further and Skye is unwilling to give him more information on the raid.  
  
"Not if I don't die," she replies bitterly, turning her back on his imploring look and hating that she'd been weak enough to use an excuse to see him in the first place.  
  
She doesn't say goodbye.  
  
*  
  
When she visits him again, there is a cut on her lip that wings out to her cheekbone.  
  
He cannot help but notice it.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
It doesn't look like she wants to answer but he isn't going anywhere and they both know he has the patience to wait out her response.  
  
Skye grits her teeth and glares irritably, inspecting her fingernails as if they are of great importance. "I had a mark. He got… a little _too_ close for comfort."  
  
His heart leaps into his throat. "Skye, they shouldn't —" At her dark look, he bites back his protest — but it costs him. He knows she isn't ready for that — it wasn't something they spent great detail on; they always planned for more time. Once she had become an agent (for all of a _day_ ) there was the implication that she would continue to train and learn from him. Level One was a beginning, a foundation.  
  
That she is being given _marks_ and likely using all sorts of _persuasion_ indicates that she is hovering somewhere between levels Three and Four. Even he didn't advance that quickly. There is no possible way she can be ready for this. ( _How is no one else seeing this break her apart_?)  
  
When he can finally meet her eyes again, she has a thinly veiled look of boredom in place. (He sees through it like haze burning off in the hot sun and recognizes the lingering fear and frustration in its stead.)  
  
She folds her arms, defiantly challenging him. "Look, it's not a big deal. I was on a mission. It wasn't personal."  
  
Ward doesn't have the heart to ask if she really believes that. He doesn't need to. He can see the lies she tells herself as clearly if she'd spoken them aloud.  
  
He used to see them in the mirror every day.  
  
For the first time, he dismisses her. "I have nothing else to ask."  
  
Her exit is almost painful to watch, because he is too occupied busily cataloging the way she favors her right side (was she grabbed tightly around the waist?) and is limping ever so slightly (how close did they let her get that someone was able to sprain her ankle?) to spare more than a brief glance at her face.  
  
*  
  
They move him to a high security prison because the Playground is compromised. (Of _course_ it is.)  
  
He doesn't say anything or give cause for alarm, but there is a feeling in his gut that something is seriously wrong. It's the same feeling he got right before Simmons threw herself out of the plane. Despite being a well-trained Specialist, he has instincts (many would argue that those instincts are the very things that have kept him alive this long) and ignoring them never ends well.  
  
So he can't claim total surprise when the armored truck swerves wildly and begins to veer off the road. What he _can_ do is buckle his seatbelt and pull on the restraint tightly. The crash happens suddenly and he tries to maintain consciousness but even he can't fight the pull of a concussion.  
  
*  
  
When he comes to, there is something tickling his face. He sluggishly flinches, and tries to shift away out of reflex more than anything when something grips his jaw securely.  
  
(He must be dreaming because _he knows that hand_ and it wouldn't be anywhere near his face.)  
  
"Would you stop? I am trying to protect you."  
  
Suddenly he becomes aware of bullets flying overhead and struggles to focus on the scene unfolding. Skye is leaned awkwardly, half draped over his body and aiming a sniper rifle with an eerie precision. If he wasn't so disoriented from the accident and the fact that she hasn't been this close to him in months — he might be impressed at how comfortably she is handling the weapon and the confidence with which she shoots.  
  
(Actually, scratch that. He _is_ impressed.)  
  
Backup arrives and she has assistance picking off the last contenders. Ward doesn't attempt to move until she finally sets the rifle down beside him and unfolds from her position to stand up. Something shuttered filters through her expression as she tucks her hair back into its ponytail (which must have been what had fallen into his face earlier) and pulls him up with a firm hand.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Skye doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day. She sits in the corner and stares blankly at the wall. There is no life to her expressions anymore and she is oddly subdued. The tac team defers to her judgment when they reach the new base as she coolly directs them to the appropriate entrance.  
  
Ward gets the feeling again, that something is not right.  
  
It doesn't go away this time.  
  
*  
  
He doesn't see her after that.  
  
*  
  
Coulson's shadowy organization operates with viper-like speed and stealth, and from what he can tell of the rumors among the guards, Skye is making quite a name for herself as an agent. It doesn't surprise him — of all people, he knew that she had incredible potential — but it does raise concern in that her notoriety is so widespread, even in a clandestine operation such as this — and that no one seems the slightest bit worried about the fact that she barely resembles the girl she once was.  
  
He is a model prisoner and Coulson arranges for him to have a small cabin in the woods. There are satellites aimed 24/7 at his little place, and multiple trackers on (and in) his person. It wasn't freedom but at least it wasn't the inside of a cell.  
  
Ward is in the middle of fixing a humble sandwich when the front door crashes open. He automatically reaches for the gun that was always at his side (and isn't anymore) before he realizes that even if someone were able to track him down here, odds are they had a pretty good reason for finding him. He's either going to be dead in the next fifteen seconds — or wish that he was (depending on who is on the other side of the wall.)  
  
Skye stumbles around the corner, clutching her side with a grimace. "Hey," she pulls her hand away and it is slick with blood. "Just a scratch. Got any bandaids?"  
  
As if it is a perfectly normal occurrence for Skye to be in his temporary home. Like they have been talking on a regular basis and she's almost like a neighbor who has come over to borrow a cup of sugar (or in this case, first aid supplies).  
  
Ward tamps down the automatic concern and fear to school his features into a placid calm. "There's a first aid kit in the bathroom. Second door on your right."  
  
She doesn't say anything else as she disappears. He hears muffled swearing and something crashing to the ground (sounded like the shelf over the sink) and then the water running for several minutes. He returns his attention to making dinner and can almost pretend like this is a normal day for him.  
  
"Pretty sure I used up all of your gauze. I'll see to it that you get more."  
  
Skye has taken off her black jacket and stands in a thin tank top and dark pants. He can see the strength in her shoulders and definition in her arms. The way she carries herself is with knowledge and certainty; she knows exactly what her body can do and it shows in every movement she makes. He would almost say the transformation is complete — except for her eyes. There is a deadness to them that he has never seen before. She looks like a robot. Like everything is resting on her shoulders and she has no way out.  
  
It is heartbreaking.  
  
And because she has come to him, and because they have a horribly painful history, Ward decides to go for broke. (He's got nothing left to lose at this point.)  
  
"What happened to the girl who told me that one hundred people with a piece of the puzzle could solve the whole thing?" Ward asks, barely hiding his anger that she has been shaped into a weapon without anyone paying attention to the damage left in it's place.  
  
Skye is vibrating with frustration; her all-black attire isn't anything new, as Coulson has been adamant about keeping them in the shadows — but this bitter outlook is not the same cold-fire determination he left behind months ago.  
  
Skye laughs darkly and drags a hand over her face. "I'm not that girl anymore, Ward. I can never give be her again." Her eyes fill up against her will, brimming with unspoken regret and heartbreak. What she has seen, what she has done this year — it can never be taken back. She can never undo all of the horrible choices and consequences of going down a darker path.  
  
(And he knows what that is like. He knows how it creeps up in the middle of the night and eats away at you until all you can think about are the names and faces of people who you have ended; the ones who got in the crossfire of a war you're not even sure why you're fighting anymore.)  
  
"Skye." He says her name like it's the answer. (And maybe it is.) "I'm so sorry."  
  
Huge and searching, her eyes find him. "I know — we've been down this path, you don't have to keep apologizing —"  
  
"— I'm sorry you had to make the hard call," Ward cuts her off, abruptly derailing her jumbled commentary. "But most of all: I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you. That you had to make those calls in the first place. I didn't teach you that."  
  
It feels like the vice around her heart has just tightened to the brink of warping beyond repair.  
  
Inside a musty cabin with no decor and hundreds of miles from civilization, Skye bursts into tears. She **_shatters_** ; breaking apart into thousands of pieces, overwhelming relief that she no longer has to put on a brave front; that she can finally let go of all the pain and resentment she has toward everyone — that he is once again her safe place to let it all go.  
  
Ward tentatively puts his arms around her, and when she doesn't pull away — only sobs harder — he firms his jaw against the emotion in his throat and holds her until her shaking cries end. When he moves to give her some space so that she can compose herself, she tightens her grip on his sleeve.  
  
"You can stay." Red-rimmed eyes bracketed by exhaustion and hair falling messily in her face, Skye adds, "If you want."  
  
He doesn't leave her side, not even when she falls asleep.  
  
*  
  
  
 _this_ is how it ends:  
  
  
They are called back into the field by Coulson himself (you don't refuse the Director of Shield, even if you are the closest thing he has to a daughter and a heavily monitored ex-Specialist) and Ward doesn't take his eyes off Skye for a second.  
  
She has a familiarity that speaks of hard-earned experience as she prepares for the landing — efficiently putting on her vest and pack, checking the ammo in her guns and making sure she has her last minute details sewed up neatly — he remembers well the pre-mission jitters he would get and his little rituals to assert any semblance of control in the situation. To feel like he had a choice.  
  
This is where they differ. Skye _does_ have a choice. She can walk away. There is no double-agent crap keeping her here. But she has lost her way and the will to fight burns _differently_ in her. That fight isn't hers anymore, it's for every nameless evil out there that she's determined to take down.  
  
It will destroy her and she isn't going to do a thing to stop it.  
  
Ward puts his hand out and gently pushes her back against the seat. It gets her attention, as he knew it would. Skye's eyebrows are raised with skepticism and displeasure and he can feel the anxiety building each second he delays speaking.  
  
"You are a _good_ person, Skye."  
  
Her eyes widen in a combination of panic and guilt and relief. "I —"  
  
"We're in this together. You don't make all the hard calls anymore."  
  
Skye opens her mouth to speak and closes it abruptly. She bites her lip hard and closes her eyes against the tears that want to escape. When she feels his fingers lace with hers, the wave of emotion passes and he is watching with that same comforting, steady care he's from the first day he wrapped her hands in the cargo hold on the Bus.    
  
Skye knows that it isn't over and that it will be a long and exhausting road back. She doesn't have to do it alone. "It's different. With us."

It is - because now they have _both_ fought their way back from black depths of rock bottom and are helping each other figure out how to live free of the shadows.  
  
"Yes." Ward smiles briefly, as if his muscles are unfamiliar with how to move — and she feels something stir in her heart that she can see the way it plays with his cheekbones and eyes now that his beard is gone.  
  
She abandons all of her hardened training and gives into the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. She closes her eyes and pretends that she is back on the Bus, waiting at some ungodly hour to begin training. When at last she hears his contented sigh, it is enough. She collects that tiny warm feeling blossoming in her heart and tucks it away for safety.  
  
He ghosts a kiss on her temple and stands, drawing her up with his strength.  
  
"Let's do this."  
  
And so as equals matched in a set — they do.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr (i'm b-isforbombshell) if you want to say hi!


End file.
